


Warmth

by tarysande



Series: Rose Trevelyan [8]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 21:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3149447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarysande/pseuds/tarysande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's grown quite accustomed to his warmth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warmth

He was dreaming. Loath as she was to interrupt rest he too rarely took, his furrowed brow and gasping breath were the precursors to dreadful nightmares that might wake him screaming, or weeping, or, worse, not remembering her at all.

Turning on her side and propping herself up on one elbow, she watched a moment longer, hoping a more peaceful slumber might settle on him once again. When his eyelashes began to flutter, and his lips twisted into a grimace half-defiant and half-terrified, she knew that hope was dashed. Then, and only then, she reached out, gently pressing her fingertips to his cheekbone, murmuring, “You’re safe, love. Wake now.”

As his eyes opened, it was clear she’d waited too long. He jerked away from her hand, scrabbling at the sheets for a blade safely kept on the other side of the room. For one inhale, two, she waited. His hand stilled and his eyes came back to hers, filled with remorse so palpable it made her own eyes prickle with tears. “Forgive me,” he said, glancing away again, color rising in his cheeks. “Until I can control these nightmares, I should not risk—”

“You should not risk the Inquisitor’s wrath by depriving her of your presence, more like. She’s grown quite accustomed to your warmth, Commander. And your kisses. And the way you whisper prayers against the back of her neck when you think she’s sleeping.” She smiled, reaching for his hand and pressing a kiss into his palm. His fingers closed reflexively around the spot as she pulled away, like a child holding onto a sweet, but he didn’t look at her.

“And if I should dream you’re a demon?” he asked, still staring at the closed fist holding her kiss, voice hollow. “If I should dream you’re one of Uldred’s abominations, one of Meredith’s monsters? If you should wake to my hands around your neck instead of kisses? A blade instead of a prayer?” He lifted his face then, his expression so stark and horrified she knew he spoke from experience—of dreams he’d already dreamed, fears he continued to face—and not merely of hypotheticals. “Will warmth be worth it then?”

“You’re mistaken if you expect me to say no,” she said.

“This is no jest—”

“Just as well I’m not jesting, then!”

The sharpness of her tone made him blink, and though his lips parted as if to speak, no sound emerged.

“Funny thing about relationships, Cullen,” she continued, more gently, swallowing past the tightness in her throat. “In the ones that work—the ones that last—you take the bad along with the good; you take the challenging along with the effortless. My father told me that once, and I’ve never forgotten it. I daresay he knew what he was talking about. He and my mother had to move mountains to marry, and she nearly lost her title in the process.” She pushed herself to her knees, wrapping the sheet tightly around her. “I want… I want this to last. I want this to work. We’ve already got so many cards stacked against us. We’re parted more than I’d like. We both of us face danger—life or death danger—every blighted day. I don’t want to hold you at arm’s length because  _something_  might happen,  _something_  might go wrong. Maker, I might—anything might happen. So, yes. Yes, your warmth will always be worth it.”

His eyes searched her face so intently her breath caught and stuck. Finally, though, finally he unclenched his hand and reached for her, and she went willingly into his arms. He kissed the top of her head, her scarred eyebrow, and her cheek before finding her lips. When they parted, she was breathless for a different reason altogether. “You make a compelling argument,” he said.

“Yes, well,” she replied, drawing him down to her and interspersing her words with kisses, “that  _is_  why you lot gave me the big shiny sword and the fancy chair, isn’t it?”

His chuckle was a victory that chased the last of the ghosts from his features. “One of the many reasons, yes.”

“You can tell me the rest later,” she said. “For now? I don’t know about you, but I am feeling  _awfully_  chilly.”

“Then you ought to close the windows, my lady.”

“Mmm,” she hummed. “And deny myself the fresh mountain air? I think not. I hear it’s very good for you. Bracing.  _Invigorating_ , even. I think I shall just have to find other ways to keep warm, Commander Cullen. Ideas?”

“A few,” he said, and proceeded to warm her very well indeed.


End file.
